


Poison Rose

by Gweiddi_at_Ecate



Category: Celtic Mythology, Faerie Folklore
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Mild Blood, fae lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 16:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15755760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gweiddi_at_Ecate/pseuds/Gweiddi_at_Ecate
Summary: He called her Leanan, yet her true name remained unknown to him.





	Poison Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Ecate should be studying. Ecate should not be translating stuff she wrote almost ten years ago. Ecate has weird fae OTP. Ecate has zero shame.
> 
> The title is a gentle hint to Anais Mitchell's song _Tamlin_.

Leanan Sidhe bit her fingertip with her pointed canine and she watched the drop of blood emerging and swelling on her finger. She turned her palm towards the ground and applied a little pressure. The blood oozed in little dots of colour on the pristine snow.

“How morbid you are, Leanan.”

The melodious and husky whisper at her ear came along with an intimate caress which started from her hips and continued down between her legs, creasing the raw silk of her robes.

Leanan Sidhe bit her moan and she watched the snow absorbing her blood, captivated. It wasn’t a human red, scarlet or carmine: it glowed with sparks of blue and indigo, like an exotic poison.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked to that obscene touch.

Hungry lips went to her neck. They sucked her ivory skin and left small bitemarks on her thin shoulder. The hand touched her with more insistence and she put her own over it, inviting it to keep on going.

“Aye, it’s beautiful,” a throaty moan acquiesced.

“Look. Look how the snow would rather fight the colour. Look how enticed she is, instead.”

The hand lifted her robes. It caressed her thighs and her hairless groin. It reached her warmer, soft flesh. Leanan Sidhe let out a groan.

She looked at her wan legs, almost as opalescent as the snow, looked at the iridescent trails of poison which ran over her like a path.

She could have used thousands of words to describe that precise hue on the smooth plain of her skin. However, at that moment it wasn’t up to her to speak. It was never up to her.

“You smell of art and love, Leanan,” the voice seduced her. The creature’s nose hid behind her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair and her body.

He called her Leanan, yet her true name remained unknown to him. It was too precious a gift to give. Even to him.

The hand stopped harassing her legs. It flew over the gossamer fabric of her robes. Leanan Sidhe didn’t feel the cold. She didn’t feel anything when she wasn’t bound to a human except for the throes only he, the master of all seducers, could give her, bringing her heart to blossom again.

Wet fingers laid on her lips. Leanan Sidhe opened her mouth, and she tasted on her tongue her unfinished pleasure.

“Bite it, Leanan.”

His index finger pressed against her teeth and she did as ordered.

The wounded finger was moved away then, the arm held out. His thumb and middle finger squeezed around her bite, and red, green-glittering blood dropped next to Leanan Sidhe’s own.

A little more pressure, and new beads fell and mixed with the purple ones already staining the snow.

“The blood of the Leanan Sidhe and the Gancanagh. What shall be born of it?”

“A new and wondrous flower, which we’ll pick when spring comes,” the Gancanagh answered.

“Will it be poisonous?”

“Not any more than we are,” he whispered, smiling against her neck.

“It will be deadly,” she figured, delighted.

“Not any more than love.”


End file.
